and life can be as important as death
but so mediocre when there's no air, no light and no hope
“Mausoleum” - Manic Street Preachers
|
Never show fear, boy, fear is a weakness, a weakness and a delicious energy. Let me taste you. No, don't fight me, you insolent little brat, give me that mouth. Good boy. Now part your lips for me - they're soft and pretty, and maybe once I could have enjoyed kissing for its own sake, but I don't desire you in that way, even if you're foolish enough to think I do. What I desire is your life force, your submission, your total degradation, to break you, to destroy that mockery of innocence.
Your looks are such a lie, aren't they, boy? I can feel it. You are not normal, you have strange powers. You taste... bittersweet, and it gives me such a strange thrill that I want to break every bone in your body, one by one and feast at leisure on your agony. You excite me and you utterly disgust me - why do you scream at me to stop when you know that I won't? What makes you think that you will be spared? You saw what I did to her, and yet you are foolish enough to beg for mercy. You know you're special, don't you, you insubordinate, arrogant child? You can see right through me, the way others cannot. Mmmm, but you're pretty, too, and it would be such a shame to end your suffering so soon - long, slow, inexorable torture would be the most pleasurable way of taking you - feeling you crying, hurting, crumbling slowly, knowing that I am the one with the power to hold you in limbo, in that perfect hell between life and death, sipping your life energy as and when I choose, savouring it, as one would a good vintage wine. Big terrified green eyes - no, don't close them, I want to see your pain, I want to watch as you lose the strength to struggle, I want to see the helplessness and frustration as you submit to my desires and your death. Stop screaming and hyperventilating - I will not have you pass out on me. You are going to see and feel every moment of this. You're so beautiful it's obscene - eyes so large and darkened with terror, sakura petals caught in your golden hair, fluttering down onto that slender white body - purity just waiting to be soiled with blood, semen and your own excrement. Wouldn't that be nice, boy, to make you lose all control of your bodily functions, to see you in helpless abandonment as you assist me in your own degradation? You were foolish to come out this late at night on your own so provocatively dressed - did you really think that anybody would come to save you? And you know that a witness to a murder cannot be allowed to tell the tale. STOP screaming. You want to carry on uselessly crying for me to stop, crying for help? Very well, in that case, I will have to teach you a lesson. Your throat is so tiny in my hands, warm and quivering with fear and sobs - the thought of crushing all life out of it is arousing me too much, and I want to put that annoying mouth to good use by fucking it hard and deep as you choke and gasp for breath. Damn you for tempting me like this, I want to prolong your suffering, not end it. I hope you appreciate this, my skill in strangling you so slowly that you will go limp and submissive for me. There! So much better - your screams are silent now, you have little energy left to fight me with. I can play with you now, sweet, slow torture for a beautiful boy. Tears suit you so well. Does it hurt when I twist your nipple like that? Shall I squeeze it a little harder, leave it red and swollen like your lips, like the hardness beginning to to grow between your legs, in spite of yourself? Not so much of an innocent child now, are you, my doll? Don't you want me to touch you there? You can struggle all you like, but I can feel you responding to me, sluttish, helpless, your cock swelling and throbbing as I tease it. You want me to fuck you so hard you bleed and pass out with the pain, don't you? Stop shaking your head, you know you have no choice but to do as I wish. And don't think that I will let you lose consciousness, boy - if you try to black out in fear and agony, I will bring you back. Yes, like this. What, you're surprised I can make you feel good? You don't want to feel good? You hate it that you're responding to my touch, that the tip of my tongue just there excites you so much you're trying to arch up into my mouth. Enough. You will come when I am ready, do you understand? Such slim thighs, milk-white and smooth, so much like a doll. Now suck my fingers. No, don't even think of biting, my other hand is between your legs, and I can twist hard... no, I didn't think you'd want me to do that. Good boy, so obedient. Now cry for me, scream for me, as I open you up. Ohhhhh, that is so delicious, to see your small body buckling in agony, to watch you thrashing in pain, to feel you spasm tightly round my hand, unable to free yourself. I want to impale you, feel every ripple of pain caressing my cock... aaaaahhhh, so hot and tight... Plunging into you, I want to break that slender white neck, gouge those pretty green eyes out, pull your legs so far apart that you'll never be able to walk again, slowly slice into that smooth skin with a knife, taste your blood, make you clean the knife with your tongue. You look so pretty with your mouth open in a soundless scream, your hands clawing at your yukata, and your shame at arching up against me, rubbing your cock against my belly, even as I make you crumple again in pain... it feels like catharsis to orgasm through your agony like this, cleansing myself of the sluggish, sickening weakness I feel when I have no control over life and death. Tonight, I have perfect control, I feel empowered as I pull out of you, watching as you cringe in pain and shame at soiling your yukata. I am happy that I made you bleed, too, but I will not have you curling up and whining, clutching yourself defensively and keeping your degradation and anguish to yourself. I gave you the gift of this living hell and you will thank me by sharing it with me. What do you mean, you don't want me to touch you ever again? I am going to touch you in ways that will be with you forever. You remind me too much of myself at your age. You can try to rebel against me, boy, but you cannot escape - I am going to reduce your life to nightmare. You dare to remind me of my lost hope and innocence, and yet I know you have tasted darkness. You are condemned, like me. Your beauty is deceptive, but I am going to make you truly beautiful by breaking you. Yes, that *is* the knife I killed her with - clean it for me. No, not like that - with your tongue. I want you to taint yourself with her blood, her death. That's right. Stop retching, I want that knife clean before I cut into your flesh. Now lie down on your front, and stay still. It seems I will have to sit on you and pin your arms beneath you if you are going to jerk away from the blade like that. There. Stilled. I can feel myself grow hard again as the sharp steel slices so easily through your delicate skin and into the muscles beneath, and the sight of the blood that wells up gives me a thrill that only a blade can bring. You look so shocked as I put the knife down beside you and twist your head so that you are forced to look at me. Did you think I was going to allow you bleed to death as I did that woman? You should know by now that I won't let you off that easily. I lick your blood from my fingers and grip your jaw, pressing my tongue into your mouth for a deep kiss. Taste me, taste yourself, taste your degradation, our damnation. You are determined to be sick, aren't you, boy? Now take a deep breath and pull yourself together, or... well, I have other uses for that part of you than severing it, but I'm glad you don't want to take a chance. Slowly, carefully, I dip my fingers in your blood and trace the intricate markings of a curse upon the smooth skin of your back and your buttocks, paying close attention to detail. This spell will not only bind you to me but it will allow me to drain your life force, slowly but surely, leaving you dying little by little in excruciating pain. The thought that your suffering might go on almost interminably makes me shudder with pleasure. Such a befitting death for a beautiful boy, though it is almost a shame that I will not be able to watch you breathe your last. However, I have far too much to do to be bothered stalking you and waiting for you to die. You writhe and sob as the curse burns into your skin like acid, and I become impatient to finish your back so that I can turn you over, see your distraught face as I bind you to me, as I... There, finished! I roll you over onto your back, enjoying your whimpering and yelps of pain as I do so. Before I start on your chest, there is something I must do. Taking your small penis in my hand, I massage it to life and laugh as you struggle and snarl at me. Yes, my doll, I want you to see you so utterly humiliated that you will never want another's touch there. Toying with your slit with one fingertip, I dip the other hand into the bloody wound on your shoulder and continue to inscibe the curse on your thin chest. You are arching and bucking too much and I command you to be still as I complete my work of art. I sit on your hips, letting my own erection brush against your cock so that I have a free hand with which to pin you down. You howl in indignation and pain and the sound encourages me to lean over you and rock against you as much as the necessity of completing the curse will allow. The marks upon your skin are angry, inflamed, and I feel a sense of satisfaction at defiling your beauty, at painting the words of death upon the blank canvas of your young body. Leaning back for a moment to survey my work, I smile mockingly at you as you make a feeble move to escape. No, it is not over yet - I want to see you fall apart as you submit to the ultimate humiliation. I want to you see you convulse in orgasmic pleasure at the touch of the one who has just tortured you, raped you and sentenced you to death. Bending down, I tease your erection a little to absolutely infuriate and frustrate you. You are so responsive to my touch and I know you hate me for it. Bringing my face down, I lift your swollen organ to my mouth and feast upon it, slowly, leisurely, taking delight in tormenting you, in watching you writhe and squirm helplessly. I am gratified to hear you mewl as I take you into my mouth and run my tongue along your length. You are so weakened and defenceless, so desperate for relief from the pain and fear that it doesn't take long before your moans turn to cries and you try to thrust further into my mouth. No, I will not allow you that sort of pleasurable intimacy. I let you slip out, and laugh cruelly at your wail of disappointment and the look of horror on your face as you realise that you admitted to not wanting me to stop. I would leave you aching and frustrated if I didn't think that bringing you to orgasm would scar you more deeply with shame, leave you feeling broken, sensitive, and desperate for comfort and affection afterwards - affection and comfort that I sense will not be there for you. Do you realise that you haven't cried out to *anybody* to help you, to save you? Is that because there is no-one? Firmly grasping the base of your erection, I give it a few swift pumps and encourage your response by swirling my tongue around the head. It doesn't take long before you convulse with a hoarse cry, your body arching off the ground, your sticky wetness coating my hand. You fall then, collapsing against your yukata, frail and thin limbs wrapped protectively around yourself, a small and snivelling child who has no-one else to turn to. I imagine no-one has ever loved you, and after tonight, no-one will ever want to. Still there is always the slightest chance that someone will find out what happened to you tonight, unless I take preventative measures. "Boy!" I say, sharply, and you raise your head in fear. I take advantage of the moment to lick your juices, both blood and semen, from my fingers and taunt you as you stare at me in tearful horror. There are a couple of things I must take care of to avoid detection. Firstly, that wound on your shoulder. I take a small vial of iodine from my pocket and pour some into the open wound, causing you to yelp in pain at the sting. If I leave it to become infected before sealing it over, someone will discover the infection and be suspicious. You are surprised that I can heal, boy? Do you think that this is the only side there is to me? I narrow my eye contemptously, and recite a short incantation. I can see from the way you are writhing in discomfort that the wounds inside you are healing too and itching unpleasantly. The marks of the curse will soon disappear - for now - but never think that the curse has gone, even if you can no longer see it. And now... I kneel down, taking your head in both hands, feeling your sweat-dampened hair unpleasant beneath my touch. I stare in contempt into those wide, frightened green eyes one more time, only because I know it disturbs you to look at me, and mutter a few words. Your head lolls forward and you crumple unconsciously into my unwelcoming arms. I roughly wrap your yukata around you, then push you away from me in disgust, not caring where you fall. You will not remember me, you will remember nothing of what happened, and I don't care what the hospital think you're dying of. You are no longer my concern other than as a source of life energy and power. Walking away, I don't even look back. |
